


Aftertaste

by hereticpop



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-19
Updated: 2008-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/pseuds/hereticpop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The space between Uruha and the mattress when he lies on his stomach on the bed is almost non-existent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftertaste

I

Transparent swirls of smells poison the kitchen air in a manner of what is and what should be. Reality is composed of bright spaces, closed and untouchable, it is like paper decorations in a school theatre. It evades the sharp look of an eye, so the eye focuses on the only living object, which brings the sensation of warmth that one can seal in a bottle of wine, but cannot taste with a tongue.

Uruha turns around with a knife in his hand, the silver blade of which holds a reflection of his chin for a second.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a vampire?”

Aoi’s fingertips travel quite automatically to those places on his own skin where they can feel the delicate texture of scars that will never disappear, no matter the tenderness of time passing by.

“No.”

“I’d like to be a vampire. I’d be beautiful for eternity.”

The smile wondering around the lips the shape of which has carved into Aoi’s brain is so elusive that one couldn’t seize it on a photograph, but it betrays Uruha and the million of meanings that is hidden behind his words.

“And if I was just a mere mortal?” Aoi thinks that he comprehends this particular game so he lets himself be deceived.

“I’d still be beautiful for eternity.” And what a lie it is. “Come, I’ve made you some sandwiches.”

II

The space between Uruha and the mattress when he lies on his stomach on the bed is almost non-existent. But it is this flexible kind of space that extends. Now, it is not even a finger wide but a whole hand could fit in there, or even a whole Aoi. Right now, right there, there is no Aoi though, because Aoi sits in an armchair. A guitar in his lap, he plays a broken part of a lost melody, trying to reconstruct a song that was wondering in his mind this morning when he woke up. Uruha is reading the words flashing from his laptop screen.

“I’m really sorry Aoi, but there won’t be your birthday this year.”

“Oh?” Aoi lifts his head up, as usually taking everything that Uruha has to say with the same tranquility and without surprise. “And why is that?”

“Because it says here that the world is going to end on 19th January.”

“Ah yes. And I slept with Ruki and his sperm tastes of strawberries and glows in the dark.”

Uruha gives him a glare and his frown takes on a shape of a childish reproach that Aoi cannot overlook.

He laughs.

“I didn’t sleep with Ruki, ok?”

Uruha shrugs and he gets back to browsing webpages.

“But it really glows in the dark” he answers after a minute or so, like an afterthought.


End file.
